


you who are my home

by honey_wheeler



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen and Ryan and video games and happy ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you who are my home

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _Beach Games_.

It’s probably bad timing for a party. Everyone’s on edge waiting to hear about the corporate position. Michael’s refusing to say who he recommended as a replacement if he gets the job, but it hasn’t stopped him from hinting heavily until everyone is ready to kill him. And it’s been three days since Karen dumped Jim and he’s still moping.

“Look, it’s been fun,” she’d told him. “I really like you.”

“Karen-”

“It’s just not in the cards,” she’d said flatly. It killed her to do it. Her feelings hadn’t changed about him, she still liked him and missed him and daydreamed about the two of them moving to Manhattan together. But she saw how Pam looked at him. She saw how he wanted to follow Pam when she ran down to the water. He held himself stiffly away from Karen on the bus ride back and stared unseeing out the window. One thing Karen’s always had too much of is pride.

So now they’re broken up and half the people in the office aren’t speaking to the other half and she’s remembering why she used to have a no-dating-coworkers policy. Every trip to the break room is an exercise in diplomacy. Office meetings involve GRE-level logic puzzles: Andy won’t sit next to Angela who doesn’t like being across from Kelly who’s on the outs with Ryan who’s okay with Karen and Pam but not with Jim who tries to sit across from Pam but not if Karen sits next to her and Toby can’t be anywhere in Michael’s field of vision. It’s exhausting. What better time for Ryan to throw a party?

“I know, I know,” he says when Toby mentions it over the coffee pot on Friday morning. “I wasn’t planning on Pam sacking up and Michael freaking out when I told my friends to come over last week.”

Which is how Karen comes to be standing in Ryan’s kitchen with a beer on a Friday night, listening to Stanley grouse about the food and the drinks and how he could be at home watching CNN. The sad part is that this was the better of two options. She’d been talking to Pam earlier, poking through Ryan’s vastly disorganized CD collection, and had been driven to Stanley’s cranky company when she couldn’t take Jim staring at them from across the room for another second.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Ryan staggers into the kitchen from the backyard, his arms loaded with condiments, a jar of pickles, half a head of lettuce. “You need anything?”

“You had way too many veggie burgers,” Stanley grumps. “You should have more actual burgers next time.”

“Thanks, Stanley, I’ll make a mental note of that,” Ryan answers absently. He attempts to free up a hand to open the refrigerator. Karen steps forward, tugs the door open.

“Don’t know why anyone eats that rabbit food,” Stanley’s continuing. “And there’s not enough ice.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says to her. He dumps the food in the fridge then heads for the backyard to bring in another load. Karen glances at Stanley. He’s peering suspiciously at a plate and chipping at something on it with his thumbnail.

“Wait, let me help you,” she calls as she hurries after him.

*****

By the time they’ve got all the food put away and the backyard at least a little tidied up, Stanley’s gone. Karen’s relieved. It’s bad enough sitting next to him all day at work, when at least the grumbling is interrupted by the occasional phone call and bathroom break.

“I’m surprised he came, actually,” Ryan says, reaching into the fridge for a beer and flipping off the top on the edge of the counter before handing it to her. “He doesn’t have much use for me.”

“Yeah,” she says, accepting the proffered beer. “I don’t think he likes me all that much either.”

“He doesn’t like _anything_ all that much.”

“Who doesn’t like anything much?” Pam asks as she wanders into the room. An empty bottle is in her hand and she holds it up to Ryan. “Recycling?”

“Next to the back door,” he tells her. “And Stanley doesn’t.”

“There’s the surprise of the century,” she says as she chucks the bottle into the blue bin on the floor. “Actually, that’s not true. He really likes Pretzel Day.” She nods when Ryan pulls a fresh beer from the fridge and wiggles it questioningly. Karen notices he flips the top off automatically for Pam, too. It’s a nice gesture.

“Ah yes, Pretzel Day,” Ryan sighs. “The one day a year Stanley Hudson experiences joy.”

“Should I know this story?” Karen asks.

“It’s not as interesting as it sounds,” Ryan says.

“What’s not?” The sounds of Jim’s voice makes everyone in the room stiffen. Ryan looks at the ceiling. Pam looks down at her beer, studying the label with a frown like it’s a Faulkner novel. Karen sighs. She works with a bunch of pansies.

“Pretzel Day isn’t,” she tells him. He looks at her and smiles a little, his expression almost grateful. But his eyes flicker to Pam. _Well,_ Karen thinks. _At least I know I made the right decision._

“Stanley’s favorite day,” he says and Pam laughs almost involuntarily.

“Were you spying on us?” Pam asks. His face breaks into a grin then, a grin Karen recognizes all too well. She swallows hard, her throat tight.

“Hey, Karen, you ready for video games?” Ryan suddenly asks, his voice overly loud in the room. He snags her elbow and tugs her from the room, leaving Jim and Pam to stare awkwardly at each other.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, feeling kind of foolish.

“Anytime,” he says, and squeezes her elbow reassuringly.

*****

It’s not even that late, but most everyone’s gone already. Toby had to go home to pay the babysitter, Phyllis and Bob Vance left around 10:00, and Meredith hasn’t been seen since the second round of shots. Jim and Pam have migrated from the kitchen to the backyard. Karen can see them through the sliding door in the yellowy light, hunched towards each other on opposite sides of the picnic table, their faces looking intense.

“Bet that’s a fun conversation,” Ryan remarks when he appears at her elbow with yet another beer. She’s not usually a beer person, she’s not sure why she’s drinking so many. It’s like she’s back in college at a slightly lame frat party, drinking beers because they’re there and being annoyed that she bothered to shave her legs since the guy she’s had her eye has opted to make out with her roommate instead of her.

“Yeah,” she says. As they watch, Jim reaches across the table and grabs Pam’s hand. Karen sighs and looks down.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. She shrugs, stiffens her chin and looks up at him.

“He didn’t deserve me anyway,” she declares. Ryan breaks into a grin.

“I’ll drink to that.” He holds out his bottle and she clinks it firmly. She turns away from the door and wanders over to look through Ryan’s video games.

“So where’s Kelly?” she asks, poking through a cardboard box of cartridges and cases. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him shrug.

“Out with her friends,” he says. “We haven’t been hanging out much lately.” She pauses, looks over at him. “I think she’s going to break up with me, actually.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She drunk-dialed my voicemail at 3am last night and said ‘I think I’m going to break up with you.’” His voice is strangely matter-of-fact when he says it. Like that sort of thing happens all the time.

“Dude,” she says. It’s kind of lame and inadequate, but he seems to know what she means.

“Yeah.”

She turns her attention back to the box. “Wait, are these old school Nintendo games?”

“Yep.” He walks over and settles on to the couch, his knees wide. Maybe it’s the beer, but she finds it weirdly appealing. Jim used to cross his legs like a woman sometimes and it creeped her out.

“Do you have the player still?”

“Yeah, it’s in the back. Just have to hook it up.”

“Ohhh,” she says, more excited than she’s been in a while. “Oh, it is _on_. We are so playing.” She crawls on her knees behind the television, rummages through the cables and wires until she gets it hooked up. She comes around to the front and inserts a cartridge. When the game comes up on the screen she claps her hands like a kid. “Success!” she crows. “Super Mario Brothers, Howard. You and me.”

“Whoa, sure you want to start off at such an advanced level?” he asks, sliding off the couch to sit on the floor and taking the controller she tosses at him. “Maybe Duck Hunt’s more your speed.”

“Bold words for someone who’s about to get schooled,” she says.

She starts the game and they settle down on the floor in front of the couch. He goes first. He sticks his tongue out in concentration and jerks the controller up and to the right every time he jumps. She kindly waits until he’s died twice on the first level to say, “Wow, you suck.”

“Shut up,” he tells her.

“I mean it, you’re really terrible. You play video games like my mom.”

“Ignoring you.” They play in silence for a while. She advances a couple of levels before she makes a mistimed jump and he gets to play again. He dies almost instantly and throws his controller down in disgust.

“When you walk into the turtles, you die,” she says helpfully.

“I’d noticed,” he mutters darkly.

“It just didn’t seem like you’d figured that out yet,” she says sweetly. Then, on his next turn, “Aren’t boys supposed to be good at video games?”

“If I had Pong on this thing I could annihilate you,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Just the annoying ones,” he answers. On an impulse, she waits until he’s in mid-jump over a pit and then pauses the game.

“Hey!” he exclaims.

“Oops, my finger slipped,” she says with false sincerity. “I’ll just unpause…”

“Nono, don’t, it’ll make me-” She hits the pause button and his character plunges into the pit below. “Die,” he finishes lamely.

“Gosh, sorry. Who knew that if I paused it mid-jump you’d fall in and die?” She arranges her face into the most innocent expression she can manage.

“I hate you,” he informs her.

*****

After they’ve worked through most of his slightly inexplicable collection of Nintendo games – _Goonies II?_ she asks with a raised eyebrow as she holds the cartridge up, _you save a mermaid with your yo-yo_ he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world – they sit on the floor with fresh beers, watching late night infomercials with the volume turned off. It’s a little weird, but not in a bad way. She just doesn’t usually have much reason to talk to Ryan.

“Good party,” she offers.

“Thanks,” he says.

“It’s interesting how different everyone is when they’re not at work,” she says.

“Yeah,” he answers, his eyes fixed on the Magic Bullet demonstration happening onscreen. “Phyllis is surprisingly good at Dance, Dance Revolution.”

“I know! She kicked my ass.” Karen takes a swig of beer. Ryan’s shoulder is warm and the room is kind of cold and she’s a little buzzed, so she leans into him slightly.

“I’ll have to ask her how that feels…” he grumbles. Karen laughs and bumps his shoulder with hers.

*****

The sound of the door opening startles Karen out of sleep. She doesn’t remember lying down on the couch, but that’s where she is now, her head propped on a cushion and her knees curled up so they’re almost touching Ryan’s ear. He’s leaning back against the middle cushion, still playing Mario. She can feel his hair brush against her elbows when he moves his head. Some guy comes inside and closes the door behind him. He throws his keys onto the coffee table with a jangle.

“Hey,” Ryan says, eyes still on the screen, and the guy – Karen assumes it’s Ryan’s roommate – grunts in response.

“Good party?” he asks. He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over the end of the couch. Karen can feel it hit her feet. It’s warm from his body so she tugs it down with her toes to cover her ankles.

“I’ve had better,” Ryan says, pausing the game while his roommate walks in front of the screen on his way through the room, and starting it up again when he’s gone. Karen nudges Ryan’s shoulder with her knee.

“Finally made it past level one, I see,” she says, her voice gravelly with sleep. “Congratulations.” As soon as she says it, he walks straight into a mushroom and dies. “Aaaand I spoke too soon.”

“It’s obviously you. You make me nervous.” He chucks the controller onto the coffee table next to him and leans back, rolling his neck. It cracks impressively. She can never get hers to do that.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asks.

“About an hour,” he tells her, adding, “Jim and Pam left a little while ago.”

“Together?”

“Yeah.” He tips his head back and lets it rest against her knee. He looks like he might say something else, but his roommate interrupts.

“Dude,” he yells from the hallway. “Some red-haired chick is passed out on my bed.” Ryan heaves a sigh.

“Just sleep in my room,” he calls. They hear grumbling, footsteps, a door closing. “At least we know where Meredith got to,” he says and it makes Karen laugh.

“Where’re you gonna sleep?” she asks.

“On the couch, duh.”

“No way, pal,” she tells him. “I got dibs on the couch. I called it.”

“When’d you call it?”

“Ages ago. In my head.”

“You can’t call dibs telepathically,” he argues.

“Plus I’m already here. Possession is nine tenths of the law and all that.”

“Interesting. However, since I _own_ the couch…”

“Fine,” she concedes. “We’ll split it fifty-fifty.”

“How are we going to manage that?”

“You take that end, I get this one. It’s a big couch,” she says. “And you’re pretty short.”

“Average,” he corrects. “I’m average.”

“But go get a blanket,” she says, ignoring him. “It’s cold in here.”

“Yes ma’am.” There’s a funny smile on his face as he gets up and leaves the room. She scrunches up against the back of the couch, curling her knees up even farther. She’s almost back to sleep by the time he returns with a blanket and spreads it over her. The couch dips with his weight and she slides against his legs, too tired to hold herself stiffly. She can feel his warmth all along her side. His hand settles momentarily on her ankle as he adjusts himself on the other end of the couch, his skin rough against hers. Even half-asleep, she feels a prickle under her skin at his touch, a zip of electricity.

“Night, Karen,” he say as he turns off the lamp. Her body is heavy and warm, she feels like she’s falling into the couch over and over. She means to say goodnight back, but she’s so sleepy and he’s so solid against her that she forgets.

*****

She wakes up the next morning to the sight of his feet poking out from underneath a light blue blanket. They’re kind of cute for feet. Pale, with curled toes and little tufts of dark hair. They wiggle in front of her face and she moves back a little, yawns. She rolls onto her back a bit and looks down towards his end of the couch. His eyes are sleepy but they’re open.

“You have Hobbit feet,” she remarks conversationally.

“Shut up,” he answers, but there’s no hostility in it.

“You do,” she insists. “But it’s okay, they’re cute.” She snakes one hand out from the warmth of the covers to rub at her eyes. Her contacts are killing her, all dry and blurry. When her vision clears she looks down at him again. His hands are behind his head, his hair is rumpled. He’s got a plain white t-shirt on that she doesn’t remember him wearing last night, and she’s surprised at how strong his arms look, stretched up like that. The sleeves ride up under his armpits, dark hair visible against the white fabric. She’d never thought Ryan was her type before, but seeing him sleep-rumpled and unkempt is making her reconsider.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Surprisingly. You?”

“Same. Except for how you kept kicking me in the face.”

“I did not!” She pinches his leg in protest. He hisses, angles his foot away from her hand.

“Hey, who would know?” he challenges her. “The girl who slept through three car alarms this morning or the guy with heel marks on his forehead?”

“I can’t even reach your face with my feet,” she argues, stretching out her leg and waving her foot at his chin. It’s a lie; she has to keep her knee bent to avoid conking him. But whatever, if he can lie so can she.

“You’re gonna give me a concussion.” He catches her ankle in his hands. Instead of letting go, he holds it firmly against his shoulder, one hand wrapped around her instep, the other circling her ankle.

“With that thick skull? No way.” His fingers are moving lightly over her skin, pressing into the underside of her foot in a way that makes her want to moan and stretch out even farther. She slouches down lower against the cushions, watches his fingers work. She usually doesn’t like foot rubs. Another surprise. Seems like Ryan’s full of them.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.” He lifts her foot, angles it across his stomach. Rummages under the blanket until he finds the other foot. She lets him, that’s the crazy part. His thumb digs into the soft part under the ball of her foot and she makes a weird little nose, her toes curling involuntarily. His fingers still.

“Bad?” he asks. She shakes her head. Wiggles her foot in his grip to get him to keep going.

“What are you up to today?” she asks when he resumes.

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, spreading her toes with his thumbs. “I should probably haul Meredith out of my roommate’s bed and hose her off for starters.”

“Oh my god, I forgot about her!” Karen laughs. “She’s still here?”

“Yeah, unless she snuck out the window. Which is entirely possible.”

Meredith is draped diagonally across the bed face-down when they finally get up and go in to check on her, one foot hanging off the edge. It takes both of them to wake her up and get her vertical.

“Coffee,” she moans. “Please tell me you have coffee.”

Ryan doesn’t, so they end up at the diner down on the corner ordering massive amounts of greasy breakfast food and enough coffee to sustain an army. After two cups Meredith perks up and even opens her eyes more than halfway. Karen’s pleasantly surprised at how cool Meredith is. She’d always seemed cranky and dull at the office. But now she’s cracking jokes and telling the craziest stories about Michael and Creed. Even Ryan’s laughing so hard he’s almost crying. Karen’s starting to really understand why so many of these people stay in such a bizarre job.

“Have you guys heard the story about Michael ordering a Russian bride online?” Meredith asks, dumping a container of creamer into her fourth cup of coffee. Karen almost drops her cup in shock.

“He _what_?”

“I have,” Ryan says. “But tell it again.” He pours a liberal amount of syrup on his pancakes.

“A Russian bride?” Karen repeats incredulously. She’s about to ask him to slide her the syrup when he’s done, but before she can even say anything he’s pushing it front of her.

“It’s even better than it sounds,” he tells her and winks.

*****

They’ve taken to going out together for lunch. Kelly did indeed break up with him the following Monday and Jim and Pam obviously got together, if the X-rated glances and suspiciously long afternoon breaks are any indication. So the break room doesn’t hold a lot of appeal lately as a lunch spot.

Somehow he knows the waiters at all of the little hole-in-the-wall places near the office. They call him Mister Ryan and don’t bring him a menu because they know his order. She teases him about his rut, but it turns out that he’s always right about what the best things on the menu are and soon enough the waiters don’t give her a menu either.

“So,” she says in between bites of her cheeseburger at lunch one day. “I think we should kidnap Dwight’s bobblehead and hold it for ransom.”

Ryan looks up at her and blinks. “No wonder you and Jim got along,” he says. He grabs the ketchup bottle and smacks it smartly, sending a red puddle avalanching across his French fries. She’s almost out herself, and he shakes some on to her plate without asking. She gives his knee an appreciative nudge under the table with hers and happily dunks her burger into the ketchup.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she wheedles. “We can cut letters out of a magazine and send him a Polaroid with it tied up or something. Besides,” she adds. “I got the idea from Pam.”

“No wonder _she_ and Jim get along. No offense.”

“None taken,” she says evenly, pleased at how much she means it. “Are you in?”

“Wellll, I was going to be pretty busy this week selling paper and being a grown-up,” he says (ignoring her when she scoffs _like you ever sell any paper_ ). “But I can probably reschedule.”

“That’s my boy.”

*****

Jim gets the position at corporate. She gets a very nice letter from David Wallace telling her it was a tough decision and that she should apply again if any other corporate positions open up. She keeps the letter in the top drawer of her desk for a couple of days and looks at it every once in a while, trying to decide if she still wants to leave and move to New York. Whenever she tries to think about it, though, she gets distracted and thinks about where she and Ryan should go for lunch or whether there are any good movies they can play hooky and go see on a Thursday afternoon. So she takes the letter and files it in the back of her drawer. She’ll think about it later.

Goodbye drinks are at Poor Richard’s, as per tradition. Someone makes Jim a t-shirt that labels him as “The Man” which he pulls good-naturedly over his dress shirt. The bartender even unearths a box of abandoned party paraphernalia from behind the bar, and soon they’re all wearing pointy birthday hats and blowing noisemakers. It’s suitably ridiculous for Jim’s goodbye party, especially after they all do a couple rounds of shots and Kevin tries to play “Stairway to Heaven” on a kazoo.

Karen had spent the first hour of the evening humiliating Ryan at pool until he refused to play with her anymore. “Is there anything you _wouldn’t_ kick my ass at?” he’d asked.

“Not unless you’re secretly a synchronized swimmer or a sousaphone virtuoso,” she’d said, to which he’d answered, “Now that you mention it…”

“You know what this party needs?” she says now to Pam as they flip through jukebox selections. “A piñata. We need a piñata. Of, like…R2D2 or something.”

“That _would_ be cool,” Pam agrees. “Ooh, look, Jessica Simpson. He’s gonna _hate_ that.” She punches in the number.

“Play it twice,” Karen instructs. She knocks back the last of her drink and sets the empty glass on top of the jukebox.

Pam smiles, wrinkles her nose at Karen. “Mean.”

“It’ll be weird with no Jim in the office, huh? What are we going to do with ourselves all day? We can’t _work_.”

“Mmhmm,” Pam says absently, focusing intently on the screen in front of her. But Karen feels her stiffen slightly, shift away.

“Pam?”

Pam looks up and Karen could swear she looks guilty about something. “Don’t hate me,” she says. Karen raises her eyebrows and waits.

“I’m going with him,” Pam says all in a rush. “Not right now. In a few weeks. But…I’m moving there with him. Jan got me into the graphics program.”

“Wow, Pam! That’s so awesome,” Karen reaches over and punches Pam in the shoulder. Pam, surprised, staggers back a little before righting herself.

“You’re…you’re not mad?”

“No!” Karen says automatically, then stops to think about it. To make sure. “No,” she says again, and she’s the one who’s surprised now. “Not at all.” Pam visibly deflates with relief, her shoulders sagging. “It’s good, really. I’m happy for you.” To Karen’s surprise, Pam’s eyes well up and she lurches at Karen suddenly, her arms wrapping around Karen’s neck in a chokehold.

“Hey, hey,” she laughs, rubbing Pam’s back.

“Sorry.” Pam draws back and swipes a knuckle under her eyes. “I’m just glad to hear you say that.” Just then Ryan appears next to them and she gives him a watery smile.

“It’s only 9 o’clock and you’ve already made someone cry?” he asks Karen, handing her a drink.

“I like to get started early,” she tells him. His hand drifts to the small of her back and traces small circles through the thin fabric of her blouse. It makes her shiver, even though the bar’s warm. Pam’s eyes follow the movement of Ryan’s hand and she makes an impressed face. Karen grimaces at her, makes a shooing gesture with her hand.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” she says. She pats Ryan’s arm and Karen can hear her sing _bamp chicka bamp bamp_ under her breath as she goes by.

“You can’t keep a damn secret around this place,” she grumbles. He grins at her.

“Is there some secret we’re keeping?” he asks innocently. She doesn’t answer. She’s not sure how to. His shirt brings out the blue of his eyes and he didn’t shave this morning. She likes how rough his skin looks. Wonders how it would feel against hers. She hasn’t had that much to drink but she sways against him, almost clumsily. His eyes darken when her breasts press up against his ribs, when her hand settles right over his heart. It thumps under her palm like a drum, _ba-bum ba-bum_.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks against her ear. She can only nod, her throat suddenly dry.

*****

She usually has sex with guys much sooner than this. Karen’s anything but a _Rules_ girl. They haven’t exactly dated, sure. Hell, they haven’t even actually kissed. But she spends more time with him than she ever did with Jim, and Ryan acts more like a boyfriend than Jim usually did, even though they haven’t actually gone out with each other.

But when they get to his apartment she feels like a kid on her first date. It’s like she’s never been there before, she feels so awkward and nervous. She jumps when his hands hook into the collar of her jacket and slide it down her arms. The feel of his lips on the back of her neck sets her trembling. It’s silly. She’s a grown-up, for god’s sake. She shouldn’t be going all to pieces over him.

When he kisses her it’s all she can do to breathe. Jim didn’t kiss like this. No one has ever kissed her like this.

“Ryan,” she whimpers.

“Bedroom,” he says against her neck.

It’s even worse when they’re on his bed, when he’s stripping her shirt off over her head and sliding his tongue along her jaw to the soft spot just under her ear. When he touches her bare stomach, his hand is unbelievably hot. She squirms, flutters her hands protectively over his. He pulls back just enough to see her face. His mouth is open a little, his tongue pink against his white teeth. He’s breathing hard, like he just ran up a flight of stairs. It shouldn’t be so amazing that she did that to him. She should be over that sort of thing by now.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice rough and low. She shakes her head. The movement sends her hair sliding over her shoulders and he catches some of it between his fingers, tugs gently. Her scalp tingles from the pressure.

“You’re just…this…I’m nervous,” she tells him.

“Nervous?” His mouth doesn’t curve, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes, nervous! I feel like a sixteen-year-old at prom with her senior boyfriend who’s hoping she’ll put out and I’m nervous, okay? Geez, lay off!”

He’s grinning now. His fingers flex and press into her abdomen, the soft flesh yielding just a little at the pressure. It makes her stomach jump and twitch. She’s sure he can feel it under his hand.

“Nervous,” he says thoughtfully, as if the idea pleases him.

“Shut up,” she tells him.

“ _I_ make _you_ nervous.” He slides his hand up her ribs, stopping just short of the underside of her breast. She sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to make a fool of herself, begging him to touch her please, just touch her, now, right now, everywhere.

“I’m older than you,” she says. She means for her voice to be strong, dominant. Not breathy and full of want.

“I know,” he says. His thumb flickers across the soft underside of her breast. It snags on the material of her bra, makes her sway hazily towards his body.

“So how come you make me feel like a dumb kid?” she whispers, eyes slipping closed.

“Dunno,” he answers. “Just lucky I guess.”

*****

He asks her out officially a couple of days after that. For the second time, actually, if she counts that email from before. She leans back against the counter and considers him.

“I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully, stirring creamer into her coffee. “The email, now this…maybe I should turn you down so you can ask again. Third time _is_ the charm, after all.” He steps forward to pull a mug from the cabinet next to her head, his side pressing against hers briefly before he draws back.

“Then consider this my third request,” he says with a lazy grin. “Want to go out with me on Thursday?”

“What do you know,” she says. “I’m free Thursday.”

“I’ll pencil you in,” he calls over his shoulder on his way out the door.

*****

She keeps worrying that he’ll get tired of her, or she’ll get tired of him, but so far it hasn’t happened. If anything, the more time they spend together, the more he wants to see her. She hasn’t had to change her sheets in weeks because she’s barely home to sleep on them. Her refrigerator is completely empty. Ryan even buys her a toothbrush because he’s tired of watching her squeeze toothpaste on her finger and rub it across her teeth in the morning. She didn’t want to be presumptuous and bring over one of her own.

She takes Kevin up on his offer to sing for the band. He drags her with him to every bar and club in town trying to get gigs. “Hey, Karen,” he’ll say when he approaches her at her desk. “Can you come with me to The Loon after work today? And do you have anything sluttier you can change into?”

Pretty soon they’re playing gigs almost every weekend. Ryan shows up to every single one and waves a lighter during all the slow numbers. She overhears him once bragging to the bartender that she’s his girlfriend and she has to hide in the bathroom until she can stop grinning like a fool.

When she decides to leave Dunder-Mifflin and take a job with this really cool marketing firm, he takes her out to dinner and tells the waitress it’s her birthday. The entire wait staff gathers around the table and sings at the top of their lungs and somehow Ryan’s terrible, off-key voice is still the loudest.

“Congratulations.” He grins over the single candle flickering atop an ice cream sundae. “Welcome to the rest of your life.” She kisses him so long that colored dots of melted wax decorate the hot fudge when they pull apart, but he just scoops them off with his spoon after she blows out the candle.

 

  
_title from “Orange Sky” by Alexi Murdoch_   



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